


i’d give you my lungs so you could breathe.

by clickingkeyboards



Series: Autistic!Bertie [3]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Autism, Autistic!Bertie, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, meltdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: DSS SPOILERSBertie receives word of Daisy’s death and he feels like he has died along with her. While he could piece himself back together, Harold’s assistance is welcome as he copes.(Autistic!Bertie because I say so)
Relationships: Bertie Wells & Daisy Wells, Harold Mukherjee/Bertie Wells
Series: Autistic!Bertie [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017454
Kudos: 11





	i’d give you my lungs so you could breathe.

“We are incredibly sorry to inform you, Mister Wells, that your sister passed away this morning.”

“No.” Bertie could feel a pressure building in his chest, as if it was going to break open and split into a cavern that spilled his heart out onto the ground. A tremor began at his wrist and he had to fight to hold onto his phone, finding his way to the ground and kneeling there so that he wouldn’t fall. Gripping his trousers, he forced himself not to stim, to acknowledge what was being said to him, to feel and ache and hurt without helping himself because he didn’t deserve that, not when he had left his sister to die. “ _ No. _ ”

They told him how George had dived down and down and down for Daisy, empty-handed every time, how Alexander had held Hazel as she cried, and how the killer had escaped as his sister died. And he listened, took in every last piece of information about her death until he forgot how to breathe and he couldn’t feel his body and the only certain thing was the shaking that had gripped him in a vice.

They asked if he was alright, if he wanted help, somebody to talk to. Bertie couldn’t breathe and couldn’t reach to turn it off, to shut up the voices that were tearing at his nerves, and so he froze there, stuck in his shock, until they gave up on him and he was alone.

* * *

Harold found him like that, as he had so many times before, beating his head against the door and abusing his curls with vicious tugging, moans and groans coming from low in his throat. As it always was, he went about the room and picked up the carnage that was left in the wake of his uncontrolled rage, tidying away the evidence of anything amiss before coming over to him. 

“Bertie,  _ darling _ ,” he murmured, crouching down on the carpet a little way away. “Are you there?”

There were times when he wasn’t, when he was far away inside his own head and Harold had to wait for him to come back down to earth. However, this was not one of those times. Instead of floating somewhere apart from his body, he was viciously present inside his own skin, grieving and scared and hurting.

He managed a nod, barely discernible from how he hit his head with an almost rhythmic repetitiveness. Making a worried noise, Harold scrambled forward and, when there was a pause in his relentless hurt, reached behind his head and threaded his fingers through the curls there. “There we go. You were hurting yourself. Come here…” Gestures careful, he coaxed Bertie to lean forward against him, face buried in the crook of his neck. “That’s it. You’re doing well, just breathe. I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

His breathing stuttered and he bit his tongue from the shaking of his jaw, and he felt like he was breaking. However, the hurt in his head had subsided and there were caring hands in his hair, and he wasn’t alone. Despite how often he fought away from physical comfort after meltdowns, wanting to be  _ alone _ , it was fiercely welcome on this occasion. Their position was awkward and Harold was surely sitting uncomfortably twisted, but he wasn’t complaining and Bertie’s mind was too fuzzy to think of it for too long. 

“Your hands are fluttering. Do you want to stim?”

Frantic nodding gave way to coughing and choking and Harold soothed him with a hand rubbing over his back. “ _ Easy _ , Bertie, I’ve got you. Can you take a deep breath in? Follow my lead…  _ that’s _ it. Here—” His other hand was pressed between them as he offered it to Bertie. “You can… stim how you like.”

Gratefully, Bertie took his hand, fiddling with the ring on his index finger and groaning. Though he felt faintly awkward doing it, he mouthed at the material on the shoulder of Harold’s shirt. He said nothing, only acknowledging it when Bertie jerked back, apologies between vocal stims and fluttering eyelids. “Hey, it’s okay. I said stim how you like, didn’t I? Do you want me to get your… chewy-mabob?”

Bertie shook his head and the gesture seemed to say,  _ this, I need this _ .

“As long as you need,” Harold emphasised, despite the pins and needles slowly claiming his leg from how it was twisted. “As long as you need, love.”

He took that and then some more just because he could, stimming and breathing and  _ shaking _ and trying to process all that had happened. His words had deserted him and he made to sign with trembling hands, only to be stopped by Harold’s gentle touch. It was slightly impolite, being that grabbing his hands when he was non-verbal felt a bit like covering his mouth while he was speaking, but his words were sweet. “You don’t have to explain it, darling. It’ll hurt you. George called me to tell me hours ago, after you were informed.”

_ How long had he been in fits of uncontrollable fury and tears? Hours? _

“Let’s go to bed, shall we?” Harold said eventually, a tone of careful trepidation. “Come on.”

He got to his feet and tried to subtly shake out the pins and needles in his leg, making Bertie deliriously giggle. Harold helped his boyfriend up and guided him into his bedroom, taking care to take off his sweat-soaked clothes for him and run a damp cloth over his back to try and wash away the sticky feeling of his meltdown. “Come on, lie down. You’ve had a shock, love. Do you want to sleep?”

After a moment of thought, Bertie nodded, going to lay down. However, he was stopped by Harold’s hand on his face, enormously concerned eyes fixed upon his own. 

“She may not be waiting for you in tomorrow, Bertie, but I will.” 


End file.
